


Made to Measure

by janedra



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janedra/pseuds/janedra
Summary: Sandor ventures North to help Jon's sister. Things head south from there.Hohoho and Meeerrry Fluffmass! (you asked for fluff, right?? you didn't it's fine.)
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 77
Kudos: 145





	1. The Cottage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mynameisnoneya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/gifts).



Sandor felt the soft crunch of gravel under his boot as he stepped down from the cab of his truck- it was fine and hard-packed, expensive, and required regular labor to sweep, repack, and maintain. The drive swooped across the front of the property in a perfect little half-moon, which allowed for any visiting cars to view the proper English garden in the side-yard on their way out. The garden now lies dormant in the cooler weather, the rows of evergreen bushes less impressive than the roses and delicate wildflowers he imagines the flowerbeds to be full of in springtime. Looking up at the house before him he can see that fussy choices like that are common at the property; an ancient thatched roof with decorative little gingerbread swoops cut into it at the roofline. “Pretty little picture book” he grumbles out quietly, with a derisive snort. “Pretty little price tag on it all, no doubt.”

He sighs and slams the door of the truck loudly, hoping to give fair warning to anyone inside. Living at such a remote property, he imagines she would appreciate a clue before hearing a knock at the door. Reaching into the bed of the truck for his black canvas contractor’s bag and toolbox, he takes his time to let his dog, Stranger, out of his kennel and into the bed of the truck, ruffling his ears in a teasing manner and dropping a blanket down for him to stretch out on. He stretches his arms wide towards the sky then, a chill ghosting up under the swath of his stomach exposed as his worn grey hoodie lifts up with the movement. He checks through his measuring tape, tags, plumbs and other supplies before making his way to the little covered front door. He utters a soft “fuck.” to himself and hesitates there, eyeing the large ornate doorknocker- a running wolf, its one paw raised and back foot hinged to swing down and announce a guest. _Alright, you cunt- no more of that. Her ears are no doubt more delicate than your laborer mates. Mind your fucking tongue._

He could still back out. Tear-off back down the road for the thirty solid minutes he had driven since exiting the highway. Beg-off to Jon that he hadn’t the time to help his pretty sister with her little pet projects out in the middle of nowhere. Flake out and be a general ass, as is his want when it comes to most personal things. It was a favor, though. An easy favor for him to do and one that Jon had earned a hundred times over since hiring him on at his development team. Only called one in the once. _Couldn’t just ask me to stand up in his wedding again, could he? Still have the custom suit I had to shell out for, anyway._

“You chicken-shit twat,” is a soft growl on his lips as he drops his toolbox and knocks aggressively on the door, ignoring the knocker completely. He would make it a quick build, whatever it is- throw his back into it and spend no more than the week allotted driving back and forth into this little storybook page.

The air around him sweeps forward gently as the door bursts open- a blaze of color and warmth suddenly in front of him. Sansa Stark stands beaming at him in the entryway, her loose red hair lit from behind by the orange glow from the hearth. For a moment, just as it was the first time he saw her last year, he leaves his body at the bright splendor of her. Forgets to breathe.

She is forced to tilt her head slightly to take all of him in from the shorter-than-standard archway between them. Original to the house, no doubt. House for Hobbits.

“You’ve made it! Oh, I hope you’ve had no trouble finding the place- has Jon told you about the large oak at the turn-off- didn’t he? I did tell him to! There really should be a proper sign there but honestly I like having it a bit hard to spot, for now. I mean, I’m not a hermit, exactly, but I prefer to know exactly who is pulling up the drive.” Her hands have been fluttering; gesturing god knows what- little tree silhouettes, winding roads. She finally steps back, a small warm hand snagging his wrist to drag him in with her and his heart is a painful skid at the contact. _Ponce._ He pulls it out of her grasp and sees a shade of doubt flicker across her fine features. Clearing his throat, he reaches back for the large steel toolbox on the stoop and steps inside, shuffling a bit to allow her to close the door behind him.

Her smile returns, with only a waver of hesitation now. To her credit she looks at him directly- doesn’t wander from his eyes, even as he twists to find his way under one of the low beams and flashes his scars towards her fully. _She’s met you the once, she knew full well what she was asking to look at all week when she made Jon send you over._ To stand up fully, he has wound himself around under a slightly vaulted area near the stairs, a good ten feet from her. “Jesus, what height are these beams, girl? They aren’t to standard code, that’s for sure.”

She releases a short tittering giggle, and he’s set her hands off in flight again- little waves and flurries at the walls. “Well... one could say ‘neither are you’! Well, yes, those beams actually are to a very strict code, just one that allows for no alterations to our modern standards! It is registered historic- have you ever worked on one from the 1400's? Oh, every single thing in the house must be ‘just-so,’ it seems. Not that I’m complaining, mind you! I knew what I was getting into when I moved out here, but it still comes as a shock when you submit an ‘Elk Tongue’-gray paint sample to the board and get back a rejection letter. Honestly, it was barely more than beige-” Sansa has crept towards him as her words tumble out- a soft blush gracing her cheeks now, her eyes darting around as if helpless to end her waterfall of words.

“Its alright lass, you don’t have to give me the docent tour,” he grates out. “Just figured anyone would save their heads by raising them a bit after the first dozen smacks to their skull, is all.” He’s not missed the joke at his expense. As if he didn’t already feel a giant oaf just stooping to get in here. He shuffles his feet and watches as she takes a half a step back, small clumps of mud from his boots scattered on the floor between them. Her face is like an animated heroine- eyebrows flickering, he can see she is struggling to keep it bright. _Honestly- you cow, she clearly doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. And you are as over-sized as all that._ Clearing his throat, he adds firmly “Its all lovely, really- never worked on an historic from that century, no.” His eyes cast about at the little dark, overly laden built-in bookshelves at the far end of the room, the sweet chintz ruffles that are sprinkled over every pillow, curtain, and footstool in the room. He can see the kitchen through the open fireplace. _Cozy_. No one hates cozy. Even he could gladly grab a book and fold himself into one of her little ‘poofed’ chairs for an afternoon, if invited. The thought makes him snort derisively at himself. _Chair wouldn’t survive you._

Her sunbeams are back, when his gaze makes his way up to her eyes. Like two bright little sunbeams out of her cheeks, her smile has lit them up for him again, the blue of her eyes now aglow at his praise, too. The sudden pinch in his chest takes his breath away again at the sight of it. Everything the perfect shade; pink skin, rose lip, blue eyes, copper tendrils swooping down onto her sweater, a soft gray slouchy thing nestled about her shoulders- little rows of knit and pearl that he finds his fingers itch to touch. _Never felt more like a dirty dish sponge, but damn if she couldn’t make a poet out of me._ He watches her watch him for a moment. His memory had done her no justice and a curl of doubt wraps around his stomach. Five days trapped in this little dollhouse with her loveliness now seems a more daunting favor than he was prepared for.

“Right, well- if you’ll follow me out to the back garden you could help me make it a bit ‘lovelier’ around here all-together, I think.” Her hair actually lashes back towards him as she turns towards the kitchen and, it must really be the heat from the fire, but he’s a bit light-headed as he wills his feet to travel after hers.


	2. The Forest

The blessed back garden. This would be his saving grace. They were back out in the open air, and he was sucking in brisk lungfuls. She was dancing across the grass in her wellies, waving her hands at unseen features, rambling on about her plans.

Stranger by his side now, relief washed over him- there would be no installing a claw-footed tub with her breathing down his neck and sending images of her splashing about in it into his mind, or putting up fiddly little kitchen cabinets while she cooked at the stove and flitted about a little too near. A shovel and wheelbarrow and a view of the great woods of the hillside would be his only company and Sansa needn’t cross his path more than once or twice a day to check progress. This, he could do. _Could cut this down to three days. Two, if I work dawn to dusk._

“-and of course I’ll help with anything I can! I’m quite handy, actually- I’ve had to be, way out here- and I know you don’t have a crew so, honestly, set me to task on anything you like as we go along. I’m just so glad you could come at all, the last crew I had to hire on was a disaster and I’ll not have them back, ever.” She had swooped in close again, absently petting Stranger on the head as she speaks and looking up at him like he was the cleverest monkey. His dog was panting happily and leaning into her leg, the turncoat.

He fought the scowl that crept onto his face. “Aye, I’ll be alright girl. Not much I can’t lift on my own and most of the work I do for Jon is the one-man finishing bits, anyway. Crown molding and the like. I’m quite alright on my own out here, just show me the plans and you can be sure you’ll get what you want, made to measure.”

He couldn’t quite read the look she gave him before she ducked down to wrap her arms around Stranger. When she lifted her face again, her gaze was flinty and her lips were turned up at the corners. “I’ve promised Jon I would help you. He said he could only afford to send away the best man on his crew for five days and that I’d better make use of it.” She rose to her feet again, slowly, and said, “I’ve no doubts that you could lift anything you like. But I can keep you in pavers and lemonade, at least?”

 _Could work past dusk and be done tonight, never come back._ “Alright, yeah.”

She bounced. Just once, but it was a sprightly thing on her feet that had his head spinning again. Every bit of her bounced- from her hair to her kneecaps and then some.

“Oh, yay! We’ll make a team go of it and be done in no-time, I’m sure!” She was leaning over Stranger and had wound both hands around his forearm. Her face only inches from his. _Contract it out to someone in the parking lot when I make a run to the DIY shop for supplies_. Sandor could picture it now, the look on Jon and Ygritte’s faces if he sent back a stranger to finish the job. _No, wouldn’t do._

With a heavy sigh, he let himself be lead over to the rusty patio table, where she plunked down the ipad with a picture pulled up on it. He snorted yet again, couldn’t help himself. Of course she wants that. On the screen was one of those sweet scenes with lights strung up in the backyard- cushions strewn about, wine glasses placed on low walls and naff little garden things women like. Small wooden pergolas on either end and a white sheet hanging down. All sweet and fluff. Would look perfect back here, next to that little nest of hers.

“Can do that, yeah. If you’ve got the decorative pieces found and the plans, just text me which colors you like for the masonry bits and I’ll run out now and have it laid out by nightfall.” Sandor was already tallying the time in his head, if he could call in and have something ready at the store. Be back on the highway soon enough.

“Oh, I haven’t anything!” she said happily, with fucking sparkles dancing in her eyes.

“What. Nothing?” As he watched her chipper nod, he could see the highway slipping farther away from him, the week stretching on before him dauntingly. “No plans? Measurements?” he croaked out desperately.

She did have the good sense to look a bit abashed at that. “Well, just this, really,” making a small wave at the image. “I saw it and called Jon immediately. I just knew he had just the perfect person to help me sort it out. Oh- and I’ve asked the historic commission and the only restriction we have to abide by out back is 'no digging'. We’re good from the grass, up!” She was back to beaming at him again, as if that solved anything. Probably didn’t realize that finding a way of anchoring the pergolas was now a problem to be solved before they laid the first brick.

“Right, well. Let’s get on with it, then. I’ll just, uh. Let me get a basic measure off the rear of the house to get an idea of what footprint we’re working with. I can jot out what layout might work and mock up the height of the walls, so you can get a sense of it. We’ll just... if I can get the supplies here today, at least, no reason why we wouldn’t be able to finish up soon enough tomorrow.” The last part was said almost to himself. He emptied some stakes, tape, and marker out onto the table as he spoke and stood up to go about his business across the yard.

“Yes, no reason why we wouldn’t!” Sansa said brightly. “I’ll just go start the sandwiches.”

“The what? ...It’s not yet nine? And really, shouldn’t you get a look at which pavers you’d like so I can set off straight way after you finalize the plans?” he could feel his brow furrowing now. Daft girl didn’t know the first thing about project management and probably thought that buying the brick would mean they were as good as done.

“Oh! Well, it’s just the roast beef you see. I’ll not let you go hungry while you’re here, Sandor, and I’ve got to set it to roast now so it’ll be ready by the time we break for sandwiches at lunch.” She twisted around in her chair to look at him with wide eyes and that’s when it hit. His traitorous stomach, imagining his first homemade roast beef sandwich in years, had the gall to rumble. _Its eight sodding forty in the morning_.

He coughed once, hoping to cover up the sound of it. “Yeah, alright then- I’ll just pull up a few samples when I’m done here and you can choose which one you like best, then.”

“Right! Or, we could just choose when we get to the store.” She leapt up, all long limbs and swirling hair, fled into the kitchen and soon her soft humming was floating out of the open window.

“The store?” Was she planning on road tripping halfway across the country with him to load up some pergolas, too? He grunted. _No, that’ll be tomorrow’s travel itinerary_. His face fell when he realized he didn’t have a local source for anything like what was in the picture and that, indeed, he might soon be trapped in a car with her for longer than he would ever have wished.

He thought of her again, gussied up and pressed close to him at Jon’s wedding. It had been all he could do to not look down her dress during the whole photography session, which had been endless and hot. She was radiant the whole time, happy with Jon’s choices, happy in the heat, happy with the silvery maid of honor dress Ygritte had found for her, its neckline a low swoop down from the little cap sleeves above her collar bones and the fabric stretched wide across her bum. Sweating. Twittering on the whole time next to him, as if that boy of hers wasn’t glaring daggers at them, waiting for it to be over so he could drag her back to the bar near the dance floor. _A right cunt... made an ass of himself on that dancefloor, too- there’s always the one._

Sandor knocked some stakes into the grass at each corner, winding the tape around and pacing off where he thought the major features would extend to. As he ticked off each measurement, he couldn’t help thinking back to her entryway. No men’s shoes by the door. No larger jackets on the coat rack. _She might be alright after all, at least she hasn’t moved him in with her._

He glanced about the yard, noticing the quiet surrounding them all of a sudden. The isolation almost made him wish she did have someone out here with her. _Not that little blonde cunt, but someone. A dog, at least_.

Sansa emerged from the back door again, still humming, and pressed a mug into his hand. She left him again, staring into the murky tea- builders, just the way he takes it- wondering why she doesn’t seem fussed with what he was mocking up in her yard. She didn’t so much as glance at the orange tape marking off where the small patio would end, but instead stepped over it again to return to her pot roast, presumably.

“She’ll get what she gets, then,” he rumbled lowly to himself, but there was no bite to it. The space fit the purpose well; he was forming a good idea of what he needed to do and how it would come together. Tea was good, actually.

Thirty minutes later, he is sat back at the rusty little table, tweaking his sketch of the layout when she flounces outside- in dark jeans and long boots, a deep green sweater that hugs her curves. For our ‘shopping trip,’ he supposes.

“Ooh, its perfect!” she is suddenly cooing by his side, leaning over the arm of her chair and pressing herself close as could be. The green sweater she wore stole his breath as much as that silvery dress had. Another soft, nubby thing that made his palms ache to slide up her sides. “Now, let’s just pop up into the hills to see what it looks like from above and we’ll be on our way!”

“From above?” He glances up at the peak, a little ways off. There are no trees in what looks to be a little clearing there.

She nods solemnly, saying only “Best way to know if something is right is to take to the woods and look again. Don’t you think? That’s what I did when I laid out my garden- best to step back and see how everything fits.”

Sandor finds himself rising from his chair and following her across the back meadow, towards the trees. Stranger is at her heels, trotting happily. He can’t quite find it in him to be unhappy at this sidetracking, watching her hips sway as they move further away from the road. She turns back once with a flash of a grin before stepping into the tree line and is gone, disappearing like a wood sprite. He hesitates only a moment, more comfortable with a tool in his hand, head bent to work than casting about in the forest after a pretty girl. _But the view is rather nice, after all._


	3. The Beast

After huffing halfway up the hillside, he catches up to her finally and to avoid one of her smiles again, he glances back at the house below. It looks so small already and he can easily see the orange lines of the tape. She’s right. The perspective shows his proportions are a bit off. _Too much room in the center, even with the low walls at the back._ She’s stopped to wait for him, chirping on about the crispness of the air and the colors of the leaves and other sweet nonsense. He clears his throat to tell her he’s already found the flaws and that they needn’t carry on to the top when the hairs rise up on his arms.

When he turns to meet her gaze again, her eyes are sparkling, watching him.

“A bit isolated out here for just one person, isn’t it?” He kicks at some moss and glances about the underbrush. “You’ve got the one road in and out but anyone from over the ridge could get a nice view of your little cottage without you ever knowing,” He grunts at the rock that is forming in his stomach. _Is the little bird really out here on her own, always? Fool. What is Jon thinking leaving her without anyone? Her parents, even. They seemed like decent folk at the wedding._

Her eyes widen only a bit, and her expression is one he doesn’t quite understand- something soft and open. Her lack of concern only worries him more, now the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Looking into her deep blue eyes, he watches as she raises two pink-tipped fingers to her lips. A sharp whistle shoots out into the trees surrounding them, soft echoes of it bouncing back from above and an answering rustle of leaves in the distance. Something moving fast.

When he see the flash of grey, his arm moves on instinct- snaring her about her tiny waist and pulling her under him roughly, as he crouches down behind the nearest tree. “Stranger! Guard” a sharp command on his tongue. But the dog only stands wagging his tail stupidly as the beast leaps towards them and his every muscle tenses, covering her as best he can. _Fuck!_

Suddenly there at their necks, Sandor simultaneously realizes the wolf is snuffling and licking them and Sansa’s soft belly is shaking with laughter. She turns and falls on her back underneath him and he’s left to stare in wonder as she and the wolf give each other kisses.

His heart is a stutter as she opens her eyes again, already looking into his and he hears almost nothing as she says “Meet Lady, my fiercest protector.” She’s giggling again as Lady licks at the hands holding his weight above her on the forest floor and he then falls back on his heels with a huff and runs a hand down his face, hoping she doesn’t notice its shaking.

But she’s sat up now, her face serious with that damn wolf peering at him over her shoulder. Still between his legs, she grasps both of his hands in hers and squeezes his fingers. “Gosh, I’m ever so sorry! I only meant to reassure you that I’m very well protected by these woods- Lady being first among my line of defenses. She roams the woods all day, then comes home at night. She’d never hurt you though, I feel sure of it.”

He snorts at that and pulls her up as he stands, his long legs full of achy adrenaline still. After a pause he reaches down firmly to pat her wolf on the head. _Puppy._ Lady’s expression is decidedly un-‘wolf like’ in that moment and he suddenly feels a fool for ever thinking the beast would attack. His cheeks warm as he rumbles out “Wasn’t me I was worried would come to harm, little bird.” And he can feel her smiling, then. The warmth of it blazing on the scarred side of his face, though he refuses to look up. They’re standing too close and she hasn’t yet let go of his other hand. He finally raises his eyes to just her mouth- just her perfect pink mouth, turned up at the corners. _Hungry._

Dropping her hand like its made of fire, he turns to take off back down the hill. Over his shoulder, he calls out “Best get on with it before we’re bewitched by another of your forest beasts.”

Her laugh and quickly trotting feet are light against the heart beating in his chest and he has to agree that here, amongst the trees with a wood sprite and two overgrown puppies trailing behind him, he does feel very safe and at peace. The little cottage below has the cozy call of home and for the first time today he isn’t in a rush to get through the moment.

She keeps a pace with him on the downward slope back as they chat about his thoughts on the pergola foundations. She’s all foal legs on the way down, suddenly, and he grabs her by the elbow more than once to steady her as Sansa’s hip crashes into his. Quick to consent to any of his suggestions, he has the nagging sense again that she isn’t really paying attention to any of it. As they emerge in the meadow, though, she stops him dead in his tracks. “But wouldn’t that make the firepit a bit too close to the projector?” She doesn’t stop walking, her stride suddenly long and even towards the house.

“What fucking projector?,” his tongue slipping just the once, today. Clearly he’s the one who hasn’t been paying attention. When she stops, its in the middle of the taped off area, and she’s already adjusting the stakes, babbling on sweetly.

“-of course, I’d never imagine to have you set it up! And I don’t even know where we’d get it from, but perhaps we could stop at the hardware store while we’re out? They have a bit of everything, might have something that would work.” Her hands are a flurry of movement and she dips down at the waist, over and over- bending his materials to her will. As a circle emerges in the center, next to the two walls, he begins to understand what she’s meant and grimaces slightly. Sansa looks up at him sharply, then, her orange hair a cascade over his shoulder. “Or do you think it’d be better to put it off to one side? Sort of by the edge away from the screen?”

“What, the firepit?” His head was feeling light again. A week of work would be a stretch now. He clears his throat once and his feet have that leaden feeling again. “Yeah, might do to have the light of it a bit further away if you’re meant to watch movies out here.” _So he’s building a fucking garden party movie theater now, is it?_ “That what the sheet is for- in the picture, there? You’re going to sit out here and watch films with your little wolf?”

Sansa raises up on her feet, standing tall and meeting his gaze. “Something like that. I’d hope not to be alone, though. Lady’s not one for cuddling, really.” She crouches to move the firepit circle over and he reaches down to help her, reluctantly.

His voice isn’t at all a growl when he rumbles out “What, for dates, then? You’re going to bring that fool from the wedding out here?” _Shut your fucking mouth, you idiot. None of your business._ His heart actually skips a beat when she giggles at that, stops, and starts again with a full throated snort. _Fucking adorable, that laugh._ And he’s lost in her eyes again, hands a fumble trying to wedge the stakes in the ground a few feet away now.

“What, Joffrey?” Her eyes are light from the giggling. “No, not him. Haven’t seen him since the wedding, and wouldn’t want to. His dad’s a friend of my father’s but lord if he wasn’t the biggest idiot known to man. Almost ruined my dress, spilling wine all over it- did you see?” He loved that dress. _Cunt._

“I do have someone in particular in mind, though. For dates. Actually, Jon knows him. I’ve been talking to him about it for a while now and he seems to think that he’d do better away from crowds. More of a homebody, it seems.” Her cheeks and the tips of her ears have gone pink.

 _All this for some idiot who won’t even appreciate her, I’ll bet._  
_Couldn’t appreciate an angel like that- blushing just at the thought_  
_of him._ It’s a bitter hate he feels then, for this man Jon knows. Maybe for Jon. Should have steered her off of him. No one is good enough for this reedy redheaded Disney princess standing before him, hands covered in dirt and grass, an enormous wolf rolling in the grass with Stranger behind her. His heart is suddenly a puddle at the thought of it- the picture she’d shown him before now filled in- her and some useless oaf sprawled across the pillows, not watching movies.

Stomping in the last stake he dusts his hands of it all and snaps out “Right, Let’s get moving, then.”


	4. The Bait

He slams the truck door behind him with the hate of the world, stalking toward the store with purpose and not waiting for her to follow. Sansa had tried to convince him to let Lady and Stranger ride along into the nearby town with them, breezily suggesting that if they ran out of room they could simply make another trip. _One trip. That’s all we’re doing. Every sodding thing goes in the truck bed or we don’t need it._

He wheels about suddenly and she almost crashes into him. “What’s the budget?”

They’re standing at the entrance, next to the pots of pansies, which she softly begins to run her hands over. “Oh, just whatever is normal, I guess. Whatever is needed. I just want to make sure its right.”

_For him_. “Well, alright then. Cap it at three thousand, then? Not counting whatever home movie nonsense we set up after, just the brick and whatnot.” He turns and moves into the store, unable to look at her as she hems and haws over what its worth to her, this magical setting of her little romance.

“Oh, well- as I said- you wouldn’t need to help with that, I’m sure I’d be fine on my own.” He’s got one of the flatbed trolleys, loading it down with bags of concrete and sand. She reaches down to lift one in and she barely struggles, stronger than one would guess. “But, sure that amount would be fine, I suppose. If you think that’s what’s needed. I trust your judgment on this; Jon has told me you’re the best. And I hope to get a lot of use out of it, in the years to come.”

She insists on pushing the trolley with him as they make their way over to the pavers. He holds up two he thinks will work well and have coordinating flats that will make up the patio and the tops of each wall. Dies a little bit at the delight on her face as she clasps the lighter color in her hands, praising his taste and cooing over how smooth they are. Sansa’s back to twittering on about the cushions she’s found online on the drive over, tossing her hair over her shoulder to crouch down to him while he eyes up the 4x4’s for the posts he’ll need to set. _'From the grass, up_.' _Right_. She’s trying to show him the near exact match she’s found to the picture, when he snaps. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to find something here than send out for it? They’re just pillows. Doesn’t have to be a perfect match, does it?”

She’s within arms reach then, and pulls back her phone from his view with a slow smile. “Actually, yes- it does have to be perfect. And I often have to send away for the things I want. I find its worth it, most of the time. To get what I really want.” She’s standing over him, then. Quietly looking at her phone as he chooses the best of a bad lot of wood. “Not everything’s as available to me as I’d like out here, and I’ll usually just make do. But, not with this.”

He tosses four double-length posts onto the flat of the trolley with a crash and mumbles only “Right. Well, best get on with it and order what you like, then. I’m eager to have this done with and be out of here. I’ll get them to cart the rest of it out to my truck with a lift while you pay and we’ll be off.”

Sandor pretends to miss the crestfallen look she gives him, as he wheels the cart away. But he knows he’s been short with her one time too many and can only find it in him to hate himself a little for it. _Better she wish the week away faster, same as me._

When he climbs up in the truck, though- she’s back to her sunbeams. She watches him crank the engine, then is off and running about how his plans are just what she wanted, the bricks are a perfect match and ‘will he really be making the pergola’s himself? Will he really?’. _That’s me then, making your dreams come true so you can go off and cuddle in the dark with him. And what does Jon have to say about it all, anyway?_

“I haven’t a circular saw with me in the back. I’ll have to hire one or wait to start the cuts until tomorrow. A pity, that’s one thing you could’ve easily been tasked with- prepping the boards.” His palm is a rasp against his five-o’clock shadow, arrived at noon, as he drives back down the two-lane to her house.

“Really?! I’ve never really worked with one before but it sounds fun.” She’s tapping away on her phone, then. “Turn here.”

“Not the way we came from.” He scoffs, his brow knits together as he studies the fences at the corner, sure they turned at a green one.

“Oh, I know- we’re just stopping off at Bronn’s. He’s sure to have something he can lend us for the day.” She pauses then adds, “Besides, I’ve told him all about you and he’s so eager to meet you.”

“Why?” He’ll only be here the week and if this is the guy she has her eye on, he’s not going to find a friend in Sandor.

“Bronn is a furniture maker just down the road. Hasn’t Jon ever mentioned him? He’s got this wonderful old barn he’s restored as a workshop and a stock of reclaimed wood from the area. Anything you could dream of, really. Remember the state houses Jon remodeled last year? I think you did the finish on the exterior for those, right?” He had, though how she would know that, he couldn’t say. _Jon was likely running his mouth again._ “Well, anyway Bronn is the one who sent all the furniture in- swings, lounges, tables- all of it. And all reclaimed wood, too.” Grudgingly, Sandor thought back to the work she was referring to. It was fantastic, fit to the restoration period, all slightly unique and with a satiny finish even he had envied. _Blast. The man’s a talent. Doesn’t mean I can’t hate him still._

A ping from her phone sent her cooing again. “Oh, they’ll be here by nightfall tomorrow!”

“Who?” Jon and Ygritte hadn’t mentioned traveling up. Her parents, perhaps?

“My cushions! Turn here at the drive, Bronn says he’s out back.”

“Perfect.” He did his best not to jerk the wheel onto the gravel road.

Bronn was funny, he’ll give her that. Too funny, really- all tease and bite and much too long in the tooth for her. Good looking, though. _And talented as all fuck, godsdamnit._ Sandor liked him despite himself. Hated the way she touched his arm while they walked around his shop, talking and laughing. But his work was faultless. _No craftsman can be all bad as that. Maybe he’d keep her safe at least, he’s sharp enough. Still not worthy of her in the least, but strong._

Their laughter roused him out of his misery momentarily- it was that giggle he’d heard in the forest, now turned on Bronn, fully. An adorable snort as Bronn spun another story, lighting her up on purpose. Her eyes were bright and lovely as the day.

“-cut his finger clean off that time! Not just the tip, the whole thing at the second knuckle. I told his father it would happen if he didn’t sharpen up and it did. Must’ve waved blood over half the barn before I found it. Got him and uncle wiggly wrapped up and to the hospital in time to get it sewed back on and let him recover before I sacked him completely.” She’d gone pale and let go of his arm, at least, to cover her smile but was still a nervous giggle at the thought of it all.

She turned to him suddenly, saying “Sandor’s just a wonder with woodworking, Bronn! He’s making me the pergola’s for the project he’s been so good to help me with. You should see his sketches! And Jon’s always going on about the way he hand carves the corner molding and finials to match for their finest houses.” She’s looking at him softly now, as in wonder that he can wield a tool. Hadn’t even done anything yet. “It’s a pity you couldn’t work here, Sandor. Much too far of a drive, but I’m sure you and Bronn would come up with the most beautiful things.”

Bronn tilts his head sideways at him, “Aye, it’s a shame- that. I’m left to cast about for whoever’s son’s out of work this week, doesn’t know a biscuit joint from a jig, and then sand the blood out afterwards. Been working on my own since the last kid but I’ve got more orders than I can handle and in my biggest dreams for the business, I’ve got to find another set of hands. Skilled ones.” Bronn was looking at him gravely now, pleadingly. Sandor could sympathize a bit- it is a damned thing to find good help, afterall.

"Mhm, happy with Jon, for now, anyway. And it would be too much of a drive, you’re right.” Sandor glances about him at the rows of benches and chairs in progress, some shaped like butterflies, twisted roses, hung up on the wall in various states of staining. “Your shop’s like a dream, though- really. Crack stuff.” The last part is mumbled out despite himself. And he finds that he means it. “And yeah, one day it might be nice to get out of housing development stuff. Work more with quality materials like this.” There’s a glance between him and Sansa, then. She looks so scheming, all innocence gone and so eager to help Bronn snag a laborer such as him. He’d be damned if he’d hang around here and watch her romantic plans for Bronn unfold, ever. _A mile better that that Joffrey nunce, but still be the death of me watching her fawn all over him._ “Sansa said you’ve got a saw we could use?”

Within the hour, they were back in her little bubble- Sansa unloading what she could and wouldn’t stop talking about Bronn and his workshop and all the wonders that unfold there. He threw his back into his work, stacking and lifting everything five at a time, the burn in his arms and the sweat soaking through his t-shirt a familiar and welcome distraction from self-pity. Finally, she stopped fluttering around and stood staring at him work. Accepting that he could do it quicker without her in the way, probably. He glanced up at her as he slammed the bed of the truck closed, and her tongue was a hotpink dart out over her lips as she whispered “Hungry?”


	5. The Spell

They had tossed the day away just getting the plans set and materials there, stopping off at Bronn’s and now it was almost seven and dusk was falling and they’d got nothing done at all, really. But Sandor couldn’t find it in him to feel mad about it as the gravy from the best damned sandwich he’d ever had dribbled down his chin. Second best. The first one he gobbled up was like a revelation, this one took second- only because he knew exactly how delicious it was going to be this time.

She sat primly, watching him devour this one with her hands tucked under her chin. Sandor tossed away thoughts like 'elegant' and 'beautiful', though she was both of those. But here in her cozy little home in her soft green sweater and bare feet she was something else altogether. _A fairy._ She had filled her little kitchen table with tea and homemade biscuits and corn muffins she insisted he should taste, pressing things into his hands eagerly and apologizing for making him wait so long to eat, apologizing for there not being any take away places on the drive back- as if he’d trade back his minutes of hunger for this, as she'd plunked down his favorite beer before him.

He reluctantly shoved the last bite into his mouth, groaning and sitting back in his chair at last, feeling full like he hadn’t been in ever, maybe. Wishing for this feeling to stay. _Can you fall in love with a sandwich?_ He met her eyes and knew at once that she knew. The power that the sandwich had over him. It wasn’t the giant beast sleeping on the other side the hearth that he should have feared earlier- it was the bewitching powers of the one sat before him now, smiling and pushing another beer towards him. He took a deep swallow of the second bottle, too much to be driving for most but he’d eaten well and he was a large man. He cast his gaze up over the kitchen sink to the garden window. _Dark_. No sun left.

“Any chance you’ve got a spotlight back there, little bird? Would be good to get something laid out before the morning. Start fresh.” The thought of black top stretching out in front of him already made his eyelids droop slightly. He’d need to get his blood up a bit before he hit the road.

“No, sorry. None at all. ...They wouldn’t like it.” She whispers the last bit to the table.

“Who’s they, then? What, your wolf’s friends?” _Damn_.The thought of more of them out there watching from the tree line had startled him awake a bit at least.

She shifts now in her chair, tucking her long hair behind her ears and her fingers under her legs, hunching over but then looks up at him directly. He feels stuck. Pinned. Couldn’t move if he tried.

“No, I’ve never seen Lady traveling with others. I’m sure they’re nearby but her territory extends up over the hill at least. A long time ago this house was on the game lands of my ancestors, though. Its why I moved here originally- I couldn’t miss the chance at taking back a bit of our heritage. The castle up the road was the Starks, if you’ve ever heard the history of the area.” She paused then, waiting for him to shake his head no. He had a feeling that he didn’t want to, wished he hadn’t asked. He finishes his beer in one swig and waits for her to continue. “Jon and I and all of our brothers and sisters grew up hearing the legends. We didn’t live near here but we heard tales of what lives in the forests from our grandparents and even a friend of the family whose mother was the last person to serve when it was still occupied. Her stories were the most detailed and since I’ve lived here I’ve found them to be the most accurate.”

She’s gone all quiet now. Waiting for something, he isn’t sure what.

“Sansa, are you trying to tell me a ghost story?” He means it as a joke but it comes out more of a question, there in her dim little kitchen with the dark closing in around them.

“No, not exactly. I’m not sure you would believe me if I told you, though.” She’s looking out the window now, out at the dark. He reaches down slowly to pet Stranger, who is sleeping softly at his feet. Wants to reassure him that he’s there, in this strange little world they’ve sunken into.

Her hair falls over the side of her face as she looks down at her feet for a moment, thinking. Tucking her bottom lip under her teeth, she smiles and commands him “Come with me.” As soft as a sigh and twice as damning. He won’t argue with her.

They’re standing out in the meadow, when she speaks again. She’s barefoot with her long arms wrapped around her torso and he wonders how she can stand it. Even he can feel the bite through his clothes, the chill that has wrapped around them. He steps in closer to her now, not sure if he’s seeking out heat or offering it. Her skin is so pale in the moonlight that it glows. Turning her gaze away from the tree line, she fixes him with her blue eyes and asks “Do you see them?”

Glancing up briefly, he shakes his head, unsure what he’s meant to look for.

“The eyes.” She turns back to the forest, the dark hill looming ominously over them now.

Sandor clears his throat, manages to bark out suddenly, “Thought you said there weren’t any others? Wolves, I mean.”

“Quiet, they can hear us." She whispers it harshly, chastising him for speaking so briskly out here in the middle of nothingness. The dark. "There aren’t. Not wolves. But look low like where you might see a wolf’s eyes. Do you see them?” She’s leaning into him now, a finger extended out towards the trees.

He squints, following her finger. “What is it we’re looking at, Little Bird?”

“The gnomes.” _FUCK_.

“What did you say?” He knows he hasn’t misheard her. Jon’s pretty sister has lost her mind out here is the Northlands. “Down by the base of the trees- see there? The little green glimmers. Two sets of two. They’re watching us.” She looks up into his eyes again, still leaning against his chest. “Can you see them, Sandor?”

He means to say no. Tell her there is nothing but blackness stretching out in front of them. Talk some sense into her, walk her back inside and call her family. But when he opens his mouth something altogether different comes out. “Yes.” His knees begin to tremble as he looks down at her now, her mouth slightly open and a handbreadth away from his. She smiles a soft smile and hums low in her throat.

Before he can think, he’s backing away from her towards the house. Mumbling something about the morning and when he’ll see her. He’s plodding through the grass back to the open doorway when she speaks.

“Its much too late for that, isn’t it?” His stomach trembles too, at her words. Too late. Yes, he’s stayed too long in this little spell world of hers. “Won’t you and Stranger stay in the downstairs bedroom? Just for tonight? You’ve come all this way and you’d just have to drive back again in the morning. All to help me, it really doesn’t seem fair at all and I wouldn’t feel right.” She catches up to him, then- in the doorway. The black of night behind her, piles of brick and orange string strewn across the lawn, lit up only by the light from the kitchen window. Her face a glow and hair ablaze in the light again. Her hand catches his as he steps over the threshold.

Sandor sees a flash of light and his world goes black.


	6. The Gnome

Sandor wakes in a pile of feathers. No- ruffles. He feels weightless and limbless in a sea of soft linens. Which would be a wonderful feeling except the only thing he can feel is his head. It’s a rock, immovable and heavy. His eyes are closed but the light around him is still too much.

He hears hushed voices behind his head somewhere and if he just stretches out his fingers, soft shaggy fur. Stranger, he hopes. He’s in no mood to be cuddled by a wolf right now. He shifts a bit, intending to sit up. He turns his head in the process and groans loudly, unable to resist the impulse as pain flashes behind his eyes. There’s motion around him now, soft hands touching his face and hands, fluttering over his chest.

“Ooooh, Sandor are you alright? Can you hear me? Oh, he’s just been asleep for so long I hope you can help him!” _Jon’s mad sister. The little bird._

“Sansa, if you will, just hold his arms still a moment and I’ll take another look.” _Whose voice is that, though? A man in her little cottage?_ A throb at his temple as a hand presses firmly makes him rumble out another groan, despite himself. _What the devil has she_ _done to me? And who’s this cunt poking at me?_

Before he can try to open his eyes, there’s a finger there, pushing up the lid and letting in a blaze of light that makes his head spin. Sandor’s hands grasp out at something and he winces slightly with the brightness of it. Finds his hands filled with little warm ones. As the stars in his eyes fade, he looks about him through barely lifted lids. Above him, an angel with red hair. That one he knows, can feel her fingers squeezing his own. But next to her, something smaller. Peering at him. Sandor blinks and waits for his eyes to adjust. _What the ever loving fuck is that, then?_

He slides his hand from Sansa’s and tries to push himself up but there’s no resistance from whatever’s underneath him and his hand sinks down, rather than him sitting up, the room begins to spin a bit as he wobbles. A tiny man. There stood next to her. They’re talking. _Are his eyes green?_

“-but as long as his pupils continue to dilate at that speed he needs to be resting. No reason why he shouldn’t have slept last night, that’s a bit of an old wive’s tale and he was probably just knackered from what I saw going on out the back window, there. Should have had it delivered by forklift, not ox, Sansa.” Sandor looks about him now, his heart racing. The dogs were down by his feet, staring at them and happily licking breakfast gravy from their chops- unperturbed in the least by their guest, who was tucking a penlight back into his tiny shirt pocket when- it happened.

“Gnome.” Sandor had said the word accusingly, meant to whisper it to himself but his disused vocal chords made it creak out loudly, like a greenboy. He watched as the little man’s eyes widened and Sansa clapped her hands over her face, which had lit up with licks of red.

“OH my god,” Sansa groaned out against her hands. She was peeking out through her fingers with wide eyes. “Tyrion, please forgive him, this is all my fault.”

The little man was smirking back at him now, unblinking. Sandor couldn’t look away from his eyes. _Were they green? Hazel at least._

“Quite alright, Sansa. Isn’t everyday I meet a giant ogre, either.” His tiny hand patted her elbow, then.

“Gods, no- Tyrion he isn’t just being an arse, I promise! He’s actually quite wonderful, you’ll see! Oh, this really is all my  
fault-“ her hands were fluttering like never before, and Sandor closed his eyes for the rest of it, “-I was teasing him last night, about some of the northern legends, you know? Oh, it was so stupid of me, I just wanted to go out to the forest one last time before he left- I’d hoped to convince him not to leave at all.”

At this, Sandor looked up at her sharply, stirring amongst the pillows he was sprawled on, sitting up at last. He was, indeed, on a mountain of ruffles in the middle of her little living room with what appeared to be every pillow in the house. “You what?”

If she could look even more stricken, she did. “Sandor, I’m so sorry about everything, I was just trying to keep you here longer until I had a chance to convince you to stay the night- so you could begin work earlier and... finish sooner, like you wanted-“ at this the deep blush returned to her cheeks. _Poor thing looks like she’s about to burst into flames._ It was pretty and reminded him of what she might look like from other kinds of blushes and flutters and for a moment he was blessedly distracted by his cock. “It was my fault you weren’t looking and ran straight into that first beam in the back doorway. Oh, the sound was just awful!”

 _No need to convince me of that._ His head pulsed out an answering throb of pain at her description. “S’alright, little bird. Don’t trouble yourself about me.” As he scratched at his chest, nervous at the feel of four sets of eyes pinned on him now, he faintly wondered where his shirt had got to.

Tyrion was smirking at him now, a little too smug for a man of his stature. Obviously not a gnome, now that he’d got his wits about him. Normal-sized head, at least.

“Sansa has assured me that it’s no trouble at all for you to stay here. I tried to convince her that she might be more comfortable with you recovering with me in the clinic up the road. But, she insists. As I’m sure you’ve experienced.” He bends at the waist to pick up a small black leather bag and with a squeeze to Sansa’s hand and an affectionate smile, is shuffling around Sandor and the dogs, towards the door. “Ice and rest, you can probably guess at what you need to do. It was a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sandor. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

Sansa is all whispered thanks as she shuts the door behind him, sliding a bar down to hold it. Not a keyed lock or even a latch, just a spinning piece of wood above the handle. All out here on her own. Then, she’s rushing about again, back and forth to the kitchen as he scrubs his hands over his face, willing away some of the ache in the muscles there. She drops a very welcome bag of ice into his hands, has a little table set up next to him with all manner of things to eat. Another of those damned sandwiches. _So the dogs haven’t gotten it all, then. Good._ Faintly, he realizes he’ll have to take a piss soon and begins to rummage around amongst the covers with his free hand. Quickly realizes he’s got no pants on either.

“Sansa?” He sees her peek in at him through the hearth, with a high-pitched hum of acknowledgement. “Where have my pants gone?”

At this, she’s bursting back into the room, face ablaze and hands fluttering. _Gods but she’s pretty. Fuck me sideways._ Talking about his missing pants. There was dirt. Needed washing or some such. _Probably stank to high heaven. And how did I wind up a room away from where I fell, anyway? Must’ve dragged me. Stronger than she looks, afterall._

“-I’m so sorry Sandor, I feel like I’ve done nothing but torture you since you arrived! You must think I’m a terrible hostess. In my defense, I did look for something to cover you with but... there was nothing in your, erm, size and you looked so comfortable under the covers already.” She was ringing her hands, staring at his chest. Couldn’t even meet his eyes just then.

At her apologies he only grunts and stands, towering over her and clutching the ice to his head still. “Lavatory?” He’d pissed in the woods that afternoon while he was unloading everything. Probably what ticked off the fairy sprites or whatever northern curse had put him in this predicament. He watches her as her eyes wander over him for a long moment, taking in his chest, arms, lingering on his legs. Probably marveling at the enormity of the beast before her. At last she reaches up to touch the burnt side of his face.

“Its up in my bedroom, to the left. And please be careful of the ceiling at the top of the stairs, I couldn’t bare it if you’d hit your head again.” She means it, he can see it in her eyes, the faintest glimmer of tears shining. The tenderest of hearts, probably. Probably would cry over a toad in the lane, at that.

Clutching her wrist, he rumbles out a soft ‘s’alright’ as he pulls her hand away. It’s all he can manage, feeling so exposed and cared for in that moment. Looked after, over- as no one does.


	7. The End

Standing in her room at the top of the stairs, he feels a little overwhelmed. Her mattress is bare. She really had taken every soft thing in the house into a pile for him to sleep on. _And where did the_ _little bird sleep, after all that? And with what to cover her?_ His chest ached at the thought of her going cold, or worse- not sleeping at all, trying to look after him as he lay passed-out on her floor. In front of her little armoire, there is a pile of sweats and t-shirts tossed about. Toeing the one nearest him, he snorts at the thought that she had raided her closet hoping to find something to fit over his enormous limbs. It hurts him to smile.  
  
It feels wrong again when he ducks to step into her little bathroom, filled with her things. Even more than her bedroom, the space is hers alone and just looking at her possessions seems like an intrusion.  
  
There’s a first aid kit open on the counter, recently rifled through. Sweet flower designs on the towels, bits of make-up and at least a dozen bottles of perfume. A little ocean-themed rug; shades of blue and shaped just like a dolphin. He has to stand on the thing to reach the toilet.  
  
He sits to piss, both because he’s uneasy on his feet and it occurs to him that waving his dick about and pissing in her little space wouldn’t make him feel less of a creep in this moment.  
  
When he reaches the top of the stairs, she’s there with his clothes neatly folded in her arms, clean and dried.  
  
“Promise me you won’t leave if I give you these? You’ll stay until you feel better, won’t you?” Her face is all hope and concern and he can’t bring himself to tease her.  
  
“Aye, I’ll stay. My head will be better soon enough, but I’d have to drive back again to finish your project, anyway.”  
  
“Absolutely not!” Sansa’s eyes are wide with horror at his words. “There is no way you’re lifting those bricks anytime soon. Dr. Lannister said ‘rest and ice’ and that’s all you’ll be doing.” She clutches his clothes to her chest now, pointing down the stairs. She looks regal. Still, he’s in his underwear and as he pushes past her on the stairs, he makes a half-hearted grasp at his clothes. She sighs and whispers softly, “Promise me, Sandor?”  
  
He looks down into her open face, a little tired around the edges. Something else, too. “I promise. I’ll do as you ask, lass. Now please may I put on a shirt, at the least?” His smile is worth the pain, then, if only because she mirrors it with one of her own. One he feels he’s earned, at last. She yields to the pull of his hands and lets him have what he wants.  
  
After climbing downstairs and back into his clothes, she doesn’t need to tell him twice to lie down. He’s obedient to the throb of his head, falls down gently into the pile of pillows, and wakes up what seems to be a little while later to the curtains drawn and the sound of tires on the gravel outside. As he rolls over onto his back, Sansa is dragging an enormous box through the door.  
  
“They’re here early!”  
  
“Mhmph... your precious pillows, I presume?” He watches as she rips the box open like a child on Christmas morning, pulling out long white cushions. Her enthusiasm reminds him of yesterday, her showing him the picture of the little romance scene she has in mind. Suddenly he feels worse than he did this morning, thinking of her curled up with Bronn or someone on those pillows. _Wonder where she’s put my shoes_. She drags the cushions through the house, then the box out after them. He realizes now that its almost dark again. There’s whole roast chicken on the table next to him now, with a hunk of good brown bread. Still steaming. He finds he doesn’t have the stomach for it now and sits up cautiously to hunt around for his shoes while she’s distracted. He’s surprised to feel almost nothing. There’s still a knot where he whacked it against the beam, but otherwise the pain is mostly gone and there’s no dizziness. He finds his work boots underneath a fat and happy Stranger in the kitchen. _One day here and_ _already the dog looks overfed_. He only wags his tail once as Sandor  
extracts his shoes and sits to put them on.  
  
“Don’t look so comfortable, you brat. We’re leaving soon enough.”  
  
He hears her sweet humming through the back door, probably playing make-believe like a child out there in the early evening glow. He thinks for a moment to simply grab his keys off the table there and leave, then thinks of his promise to her- the way she looked deep into his eyes like his words meant something to her. _Should at least go_ _and say goodbye, give her the courtesy of telling her I’d be back_ _tomorrow._ He taps his keys on the table twice before setting them  
back down again.  
  
It was more than cushions, it seems. The box had the giant sheet and little lights she wanted as well. They’re all strung up haphazardly amongst the pallets of materials and bags of sand- things she’s used to prop up a few boards where the screen will be, tossed the wrinkled white sheet over them and wound the lights around. She’s propped up the empty boxes, too. One each where the little low walls will go, and is fussing with the cushions in front of them. _Cozy, indeed. Fit for_ _cuddling a creature such as her, make her a little less lonely._ Unsure where the thought of her loneliness comes from, he clears his throat to fight that ache that’s sprung up in it then. She stands and looks up at the doorway, a smile beaming across her face at him. _But_ _she is lonely, isn’t she? She’s laid a trap for someone, she’s so_  
 _lonely._  
  
“What do you think?” Sansa is bathed in that golden glow that the sun spreads over the earth at just this time of day. Just for a few minutes and then its gone. Lady is behind her, watching from the meadow in the fading light. It makes Sansa seem made of gold; the satin finish, fourteen-karat kind- soft and almost white when the light hits it directly. Her hair is glowing. She’s changed again, into soft grey leggings and that sweater she wore that first day. How many days has it been now? He’s lost count.  
  
“It’s... perfect.” He stares in wonder at her amongst her little play scene. She just wants to imagine how it would be, what harm can there ever be in that? To imagine her sprawled out on a long white cushion in the grass, soft pink lips thoroughly distracted from the movie that plays. Such a pretty scene.  
  
“What would you watch?” She’s fixed him with her gaze again and he leans against the doorframe, unable to break eye contact but a little unsteady on his feet as she moves towards him.  
  
“Hmm?” He hasn’t a clue what she’s said, she’s just a golden fairy flying across the yard and singing a sweet song right now.  
  
“Which film? I always imagine guys would want to see things like Die Hard or The Godfather... Dumb and Dumber. That’s what my brothers watch when they get together. But, I secretly think its all for show and that if they were alone, they might pick films I’d like. ...Once Rickon watched The Princess Bride with me when no one was looking.” Her eyes are twinkly as her fingertips reach up to rest on his crossed forearms. “I’d choose Love Actually, I think. I always watch it this time of year, when the weather’s gone cold. ...So what would you pick? To watch out here, with me?”  
  
Sandor’s mind is a blank. He’s forgotten what he’s meant to do out here in the yard now, something about his truck. He’s embarrassed when his voice comes out in a whisper, “Aye, that one would be alright.”  
  
“Which one?” Her sweet smile turns into a tiny smirk and he knows he’s not answered properly but he can’t make his mind work on anything but her loveliness right now.  
  
“Uh, the one that you said. The love one seems it would fit what you’ve got spun up out here. The little picture in your ipad.” Her fingers on his arms are so warm and he’s worried the heat in his cheeks is a blush.  
  
Her answering hum makes him wonder again if he’s said the wrong thing, but her hands are a slide down to his wrist, pulling his hands apart from where they rest. She moves backwards, pulling him forward into the bits and boxes outside the door, silently leading him over to the cushions. “Yes, about that. Sit here.”  
  
Sandor does as she asks, stretching his legs out long against one of a pair of them facing the screen, Leaning back, the boxes behind him don’t tumble over. She’s weighed them down with some of the bricks, no doubt. Its nice, this. A lounge in the grass. Fits him, too. _More_ _room than the pile in the living room, even._ At that he starts, remembers- “Sansa, where did you sleep last night while I was all sprawled out amongst your bedding?” Clears his throat and tries  
something gruffer, sterner sounding to cover over all the softness he felt up there in her room, “Damned cold on your second floor. Not warm enough for a little bird missing all her feathers.”  
  
Even in the lowering dark, he can see her smile as she reaches down to plug the string lights into an extension cord. _Fairy lights._ _Fitting_. Kicking off her shoes, she steps up onto his cushion, then kneels and places a hand on his chest. Her hair is sweeping along his stomach as she lowers herself down against his side and props her head up on his shoulder, gazing up at him. He’s sure he’ll have a heart attack when she whispers “Like this.”  
  
He doesn’t fight the arm that comes up to wrap around her waist, on instinct. It’s her play, her little fairy spell that does the work. He’s only a character in it. And the sweater is as heavenly as he imagined, there on her hip. He lets his fingers rub it between them, as they’ve been want to do since he first laid eyes on it.  
  
“Sandor, can I show you the picture?”  
  
Of course, its all so he’ll see her vision. She piled on top of him like this last night to make sure he kept breathing, she’s set the scene so her workman will understand what’s to be done. Still, he can enjoy it while it lasts. The mummer’s reward. “The one from before? Its all about us now, Sansa. I remember it well enough.” The hatred he wants to feel for Bronn doesn’t spark there in his gut like he wants just then; the play’s too real. He’s forgotten his role.  
  
“Well... the one I sent to Jon? The picture of what I wanted. The one he offered to help me with.” She sits up slowly, rummaging around under the cushions behind them. She pulls out her ipad, tapping on the screen for a moment. “I didn’t quite send him the same one I showed you, it was another.” She stops tapping and smiles. “But first I wanted to ask you... did you really see the gnomes?”  
  
 _Fuck, not that again._ “Sansa, you’ve already said they were legends from the north. I thought you had gone mad when you pointed out there.” His voice is a petulant grumble and he knows it. He’s been caught.  
  
“I know, but... you said ‘yes’.”  
  
“Aye.” He rumbles out a sigh and wishes they had a film to play, wishes she had a reason to lean back into his shoulder so his fingers could rest on her hip again.  
  
She leans back just as he thinks it, grabs his hand and wraps it higher up around her, so it lands against her soft stomach.  
  
“Can I ask you another question, then? Before I show you the picture?” She’s looking down at the blackened ipad screen. Has turned away from him so he can’t see what’s in her eyes. Why she’d ask or why it matters at all what he’d think. He rumbles out his assent, unable to form words with her warm flesh pressed up against him again. _Just_ _another few minutes here. I don’t ask for much._  
  
“Sandor, do you believe in love at first sight? ...That two people can find each other and just know that they fit?” Her voice is so tender that it makes him hate the world, that such sweet feelings from such a creature could be poured out over the head of some undeserving man. But it has such hope in it, too. Like she wants to believe it is a real thing, wants him to help her believe in such a sweet thought.  
  
He doesn’t. Not at all. Not really even sure he believes in hard-won love. Surely it's just two people surviving together, an affection born from years of working along side one another to survive in this cruel, lonely existence. He thinks back to the wedding, then. To the tears that he saw spring up in Sansa’s eyes as Ygritte made her vows to Jon. When he opens his mouth at last, he has a feeling about what will come out this time.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She suddenly feels electric against his side, something about the beat of her heart or the blood rushing through her veins makes his skin tingle along his side, across his fingertips. She takes a deep, shaky breath and lifts the ipad up over where the sheet hangs a few yards away, there a few feet in front of his face, where the movie would play. Her thumb taps the screen and the picture isn’t of the little garden scene. It’s one of him and her, one of the wedding  
portraits from the bride’s side and groom’s side together. Cropped so it is just the two of them there on the screen. He wants to cringe because his scars are on full display, her hand in the photo reaching up to tuck his long black hair behind his ear. Smiling up at him in her silvery dress. But he’s struck, for once, more by the expression on his face than the savagery of the scars across it.  
  
He's looking down at her in the picture; a look of wonder.  
  
 _Love._  
  
She’s breathing so quickly next to him that his hand begins to make a soothing motion all of its own accord. “Sandor?” He feels her swallow against his chest. “Can you see it?” He voice is so tiny, so full of hope. He feels so overwhelmed, wants to look away, stalk off into the woods. Dry the tears that have sprung up suddenly in his eyes, off where no one can see them.  
  
Instead, he pulls her up over his chest. Sweeps her up so her legs lie against his and their breath is panting out against itself. One breath, two bodies. She looks down at him in wonder, can see the tears but he finds that he doesn’t mind at all. He’ll show them to her again if it means that she’ll look at him like that.  
  
Her hands are a trembling slide around his neck when their lips meet. Then she’s crushing herself to him, her soft lips, soft breasts and stomach pressed flush up against all the hardness of him. _Home_. Its all the thought he can muster, the word buzzing in the back of his mind since he turned down the road. He feels the tears in his eyes slide down his cheeks as he gives over to the feeling that began that day at the wedding; something deeper than lust, more solid than love. A correctness of the universe. A tide come in at last.  
  
They’re inside amongst the ruffles on the floor and the heat of the hearth late that night when she sinks down onto him. Naked as her nameday, flushed all over and moaning. He’s kissed every bit of her skin by then and knows it is ecstasy she feels when they join fully because that’s what he feels, too. _A buggering poet, but there’s no_ _other word_. They’ve left the back door open to the elements, no fear of the universe here where they are together. No harm can come to her, or him for that matter. Whatever magical creatures of the forest exist in the universe can have him, the fairy in his arms proof that it means him no ill. They make love and wake and try to go about life again, but find they can do little else but eat and find one shoe before they fall back into bed, ending the search.  
  
Within the week, he’s called Jon and Ygritte. Shameless in his joy. They arrive from the city with a truck full of his things. Groceries, with no explanation why. They've lived that week themselves, years ago, overwhelmed. A case of green foam pool noodles, which they help him strap around the ceiling beams. There’ve been a few near misses in the weeks since, though they’ve not spent much time on their feet. Made love three times just trying to get the sheets back on her bed.  
  
By spring, the pavers are down at last. The little walls are set in and the pergolas he’d finished off during his breaks at Bronn’s workshop are standing tall, wrapped in flowers. Instead of the sheet strung up between them, though- it’s him and Sansa. _A Vow_. Something he’s never uttered. But finds when he’s asked again under the trees of these ancient hills with her wolf and his dog standing with them, he says “Yes” once more, if only to wrap his arms around her forever now, bathed in the golden light of sunset, wearing the silver dress he met her in and surrounded on all sides by her family- his friends now.  
  
 _Home._  
  
He’ll believe in fairies and gnomes and love at first sight if the believing keeps him here with her, in her little fairy story.

He'll be her prince or knight or soft-headed ogre. Whatever she dreams of, made to measure.  
  
The End.

**Author's Note:**

> I moderated comments when I made a draft because I was paranoid I would accidentally post before the Christmas exchange. Can't get it to un-moderate the comments but rest assured I'm not screening them and I adore them all! Thanks for reading 💕


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